


i'm drowning (so come inside)

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff and Angst, John Has Issues, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: and i'm drowning, so come inside--welcome to my filthy mind[a tumblr ficlet wherein john has nightmares and james is there to fix it]





	i'm drowning (so come inside)

**Author's Note:**

> This just popped into my head and I had to write it! I know the title/summary lyrics (borrowed from "Filthy Mind" by Amanda Ghost) kind of make this sound like porn but it's not, just some angsty fluffy whatever. 
> 
> I already posted this on Tumblr a while back so if it looks familiar that'd be why! I actually post a lot of fic there that may or may not make it here, so if you didn't already know to check my Tumblr for fic, well, now you do.

When he and Flint become lovers, despite this being simultaneously an undeniably bad idea and one of the most adult things he's done with his life, a small, almost childish part of him expects that his nightmares will cease. Just like that. That being in Flint's arms every night, feeling the sea rocking them both gentle as a mother’s hand on her babe’s cradle, will fix that part of his mind that's-- if not broken, at least a little dented. Scarred. Damaged, perhaps.

Of course, even the love - and it is love, truly, he knows this and it terrifies him - of a good man (he is good, he _is_ , even if to others he looks a monster) can't fix overnight what years of unspeakable horror have wrought. The rational part of him knows to expect this, but he still can't help feeling a glimmer of disappointment every time his memories stalk him like a slit-eyed jaguar in the jungle of sleep.

So now, as before, at least once per night Silver wakes in terror, sits up gasping for breath and staring half-blind into the darkness of Flint's cabin until the panicky feeling recedes and the threatening shapes of feral beasties around him turn back into the desk, the bookshelf, an errant boot.

But now, unlike before, he has a bedmate. He has someone next to him, breathing deep and steady, to tether him to reality and remind him where he is, who he is, these days. It's remarkably soothing just looking at Flint in the blue-black midnight or the glittering moonlight or the soft, rosy tint of dawn. Just hearing him breathe and knowing he's there is usually enough to calm Silver down to where he can go back to sleep himself, something he'll never take for granted.

Really he knows he shouldn't touch, shouldn't disturb Flint's precious and vital sleep with his own needs. However. Sometimes looking and listening, drinking him in from all the way across the vast expanse of the bed, isn't quite enough. So he'll reach out slowly, cautiously, and brush his hand over Flint's ribs or along the bristles of his short hair. He'll tuck his fingertips inside the collar of his nightshirt, hold his palm hovering near Flint's mouth so he can feel him exhale, feel the sweet warm damp on his skin and know he's breathing. Still there, still alive.

One of these nights Flint stirs just as Silver is slipping his left hand up under his nightshirt to feel the heat and softness of his belly, feel it rise and fall as he breathes. Flint's eyes open, and for a moment he and Silver just peer at each other, silent, wondering, in the predawn gloom.

“I'm sorry,” Silver whispers. For touching Flint while he's trying to sleep, for waking him, for having the nightmares in the first place. For those hellacious images his mind makes him see over and over on an endless loop, the ones that make him crave this little reassurance.

“Don't be,” Flint says, so quietly Silver almost isn't sure he said it at all. His arms encircle Silver and he curls close in response, in repose. “I know--” Flint pauses, clears his throat, begins again. “I know what it is, to need comfort so dearly. How that feels.”

“Thank you,” Silver murmurs, curling around Flint's body with one hand on his belly and the other curled loosely into a fist, tucked up snug in the warm, familiar space between Flint's neck and his shoulder.

His nightmares don't disappear when he starts sleeping with Flint, but they do become easier to live with. He doesn't have to bear their burden alone anymore.


End file.
